Domesticity
by CorwinOfAmber
Summary: Maybe letting a dimension-crossing, time-travelling con man move in with you isn't a good idea.
1. Chapter 1

"Honey, I'm home!" Lincoln Lee called as he juggled opening the apartment door and carrying both the mail he had picked up outside and his coat.

He could _feel_ the annoyed glare from the kitchen, along with an incredible aroma that kicked his appetite into overdrive. Lee removed his coat, took the lint brush from the hook next to the closet door and spent a full minute lovingly running it over the material. Satisfied that it was pristine, he hung in the closet and went in search of the delicious aroma.

Lee didn't recognize the kitchen he entered as his own. Previously sterile tile and stainless steel had been replaced by an exploding Chinatown restaurant.

"Breathe, Linc," Peter Bishop told him. "There's no structural damage."

He wore a blue tee shirt with FBI emblazoned in gold on the chest and a pair of cheap, poorly fitted blue jeans. Lincoln noted – with annoyance – that his guest was barefoot.

Lincoln hated bare feet.

Peter grabbed a long wooden spoon and stirred something in an overflowing pot. "I hope you're hungry."

"Pete, what's all this?" Linc asked. He reached for a pot, only to have his hand slapped away.

"Uh..." Bishop started gesturing in all directions as he spoke, vaguely pointing out what was what. "Let's see... General Tso chicken, fried rice, egg drop soup, dumplings, boneless ribs and...something else." He frowned at a small pot, trying to remember what was simmering in it.

"What's the occasion?"

Lee went to the refrigerator, grabbed a Heineken and passed it to Peter while keeping one for himself.

"I was in the mood for Chinese," replied Peter. "And amazingly, you had everything I needed in the pantry." Peter grabbed the opener, popped the cap on his beer, and took a guzzle while passing the opener to Linc. He burped openly before continuing. "And I'd appreciate if you'd stop with the spousal bliss routine. Your neighbors already have the wrong ideas about us."

Lincoln feigned shock. "You mean...you're _not _gay?"

"One of these days, Alice," Peter replied, starting to put plates and utensils on the dinner table. "Straight to the moon!"

"See, that's what got me started," Lee countered.

The two of them sat down at the dinner table and ate, not speaking again until the entire meal had disappeared.

"Good Lord, that was incredible," Lee said, loosening his tie. "Where did you learn to cook like that?"

"Olivia never cooked. It was either learning for yourself, starving, or eating Indian take-out for the rest of my life."

There was a pregnant pause. The two fidgeted nervously until Peter got up and got them another pair of beers.

"So how's work?" Peter asked, feeling forced to break the silence.

Lee glared at him. "Classified."

"Oh, come on! I'm under house arrest here. I appreciate you convinced them to let me out of detention, but you have to give me _something_!"

"Well," Lincoln muttered, considering what he could and couldn't talk about. He decided on the topic that most concerned Peter. "You've got Astrid in your corner. She thinks you should be completely reinstated as a consultant and have an identity manufactured to match the one you had before. Olivia thinks you should go into witness protection under an assumed name. Um..." Lincoln finished his beer with a long guzzle. "Oh, and Dr. Bishop's newest theory about you is that you were spontaneously created by the universe to fill in a gap in space-time created by the Machine."

Peter whistled. "Hey, that's actually pretty good. Doesn't explain a thing, but at least he's not casting me as the son of the devil in this one."

Lee shook his head. "Dr. Bishop also spent the afternoon locked in the bathroom composing ditties about lavender elephants and string cheese. He actually has a good voice; though I suppose the echo had a hand."

A flash of anger colored Peter's features. "What the hell, Linc? You people broke my father! When I left him, he could at least go out in public! Doesn't anybody watch his meds?"

Lee threw up his hands. "Look, he was like this when I showed up, six weeks ago. I'm blameless here!"

Peter exhaled loudly, then inhaled, making a conscious effort to get his anger under control.

"I know. Sorry. That just gets me worked up. When I left him, he was lucid most of the time."

Lee nodded, expression neutral.

"You believe me, don't you Linc?" Peter asked him. He didn't think Linc would accept him as a roommate, without believing him, but he'd seen stranger things happen.

Lee sighed. "I accept that you believe what you say. And the DNA test...proves you are who you say you are. As for truth...I don't know what that is anymore."

Peter nodded. "Fringe Division...messes with your head."

Lee stared into space. "You just freak them out, Pete. Can you blame them?"


	2. Chapter 2

Lincoln awoke early, the aroma of frying bacon and eggs pulling him from the depths of sleep. He put on his slippers and padded quietly out into the living room, finding Peter in the kitchen.

Peter gave him an odd look before grabbing a cup out of one of the cupboards.

"Coffee?" he offered.

Peter was wearing a tee shirt and boxer shorts, and, Lincoln noted, his feet were bare again. The GPS tether anklet, attached to Peter's leg at the insistence of Fringe division, hung just above his right ankle. At Lincoln's nod, Peter filled a mug with coffee and passed it to him before going back to stirring the scrambled eggs.

A few minutes later Peter came out of the kitchen with two plates piled high with scrambled eggs, bacon and toast. Lincoln, not quite the breakfast type, ate like he was famished nonetheless.

"Thanks, Pete," he said between bites. "I haven't had anyone make me breakfast in years."

"Well, I figure I have to earn my keep around here somehow."

Peter had his leg up on the chair he was sitting on, examining the GPS tether on his leg. Lincoln cleared his throat.

"You shouldn't mess with that," warned Lincoln. "Especially since that's the only reason they let you out of detention."

Peter looked at him and grinned.

"Do you seriously think I can't spoof this thing? I'm only staying in the apartment because I respect you."

Lincoln raised an eyebrow. "That model? There's no way in hell you can spoof it. It has a body-heat sensor to alert me with a text if you take it off. I can see where you are on my phone _twenty-four-seven_."

Peter smirked. "I will bet you the sum of one hundred dollars if I can spoof this thing."

Lincoln laughed. "You're in no position to start placing bets. You don't have any money, remember?"

Peter frowned. "Okay, smartass. _I will do your_ _laundry for a month_ if I can't spoof this thing by the end of the week."

Lincoln smiled, stood up and shook Peter's hand. "You're on. It'll be nice not having to do laundry for a while. I have to get ready for work. Thanks again for breakfast."

Lincoln headed for the bathroom. From behind him, Peter took a parting shot.

"You're awfully confident for somebody wearing Scooby Doo pajamas."

* * *

><p>By the time Lincoln returned home, it was late and already dark out. He had checked his smartphone several times on the way home, keeping an eye on his guest by proxy; to his relief, Peter had not yet managed to vacate the premises.<p>

Lincoln produced his keys from his coat pocket and went to unlock his apartment door, only to find that it was already unlocked. Seeing this caused internal alarms to flare, and he pushed the door open slowly and quietly, hand on his gun. The door was blocked by something solid, seemingly lying on the floor in the foyer. When he looked down, he saw a running shoe.

Peering further through the door's crack, he realized the shoe was being worn by someone.

He drew his pistol then cautiously pushed the door open as far as possible before squeezing through and taking a look at the body. He was relieved to find that it wasn't Peter; but his relief was overridden by alarm as he took in the mixture of silver and crimson blood splattered in the foyer.

The Shapeshifter wore the brown uniform of a UPS package handler, and the package and bloody clipboard lying on the floor nearby told him how it had gained entry; however, its head now hung at an unnatural angle, neck broken, and the base of its spine had been messily cut open, at the point where the Shapeshifter's currently absent data module would have been found.

Gun raised, Lincoln pushed on into the living room. He found Peter lying on the couch, holding a bag of frozen peas to the crown of his head. He waved in greeting.

"I think he was lookin' for you," Peter said in a sardonic tone of voice that told Lincoln he wasn't quite pleased with the situation.

Lincoln noted with satisfaction that Peter still had the GPS tether around his leg.

"I guess I should have told you we were working a Shapeshifter case," said Lincoln. "Sorry about that. Are you alright?"

Lincoln holstered his gun, deciding that if Peter was lying calmly on the couch, the apartment must be safe.

Peter groaned and sat up, removing the bag of peas from his head. "Yeah, I've had worse. Being beaten with a clipboard was a first, though. The data disk is on the kitchen counter."

Lincoln went into the kitchen, finding the module lying in a pool of mercury on a paper plate. He put the whole thing into a paper grocery bag so he could take into the lab tomorrow. Then he took a bag of frozen carrots out of the freezer, two beers out of the fridge, opened the cans, went into the living room and plopped onto the couch beside Peter. He held up the bag of carrots.

"I'll trade you for the peas," he said. "And here's a beer. Let's order pizza for dinner."

Lincoln pulled out his phone and called the nearest takeout pizza place.

Peter nodded and placed the new bag of frozen produce on the swelling bruise on his head. He took a sip of his beer before nudging Lincoln with his elbow.

"I'll kick your ass at Call of Duty while we wait."


	3. Chapter 3

Olivia Dunham donned a scornful frown as she berated Lincoln Lee, who was somehow being both defiant and apologetic at the same time.

"...and I can't believe you thought it was a good idea to order a pizza, play video games and go to bed with _a dead Shapeshifter_ lying in your apartment!"

Lee raised an eyebrow, slouched defiantly, and pushed his glasses back up his nose, looking like a punk version of Buddy Holly.

"We had it handled," he explained. "Besides, there was nothing we were going to be able to do about it at midnight anyways. I called you once we would have been able actually investigate."

She frowned at him. "Next time, call immediately, Agent Lee!"

He nodded, but she had no idea if her order had sunk in.

Then her attention was drawn over Lee's shoulder, towards the kitchen, where a spicy aroma was emanating. She saw the man who claimed to be Peter Bishop smile at her from the kitchen. He wore boxer shorts and a "Kiss the Cook!" tee shirt; she completely lost her train of thought for a moment.

She shook her head and returned to the conversation as the evidence techs starting removing the Shapeshifter in a body bag.

"How is Bishop?" she gestured wildly toward the kitchen. "He was obviously injured; did you at least take him to the hospital?"

She tried to glare at Lincoln, but was distracted by Peter moving around in the kitchen again.

"I was going to," he began, "but he insisted it was nothing a bag of frozen peas and a beer wouldn't fix –"

"– Good Lord!" Olivia interjected, raising her head. "What _is_ that delicious aroma?"

Olivia abruptly ended the conversation and walked into the kitchen. Surprised, Lincoln followed her to find Peter making breakfast.

"Spicy egg and mushroom roll?" Peter offered.

Reluctantly, as if fighting with her own better instincts, Olivia nodded. Peter put the roll on a small plate and handed it to her with a fork.

Olivia took the plate and fork and daintily took a small bite. She must have liked it, because she finished the rest in three larger bites, and fanning her mouth, handed the plate and fork back to Peter, with a hesitant smile.

"It's perfect," she said. "Just this side of burning hot. Thank you!"

Almost immediately upon finishing her sentence, Olivia seemed to become nervous upon reminding herself who she was talking to; she hastily returned to her duties without another word.

Peter was beaming at her, even after she had left the kitchen. Then a realization hit Lincoln.

"You...you used to make that for her, didn't you?" Lincoln said to Peter.

Peter nodded. "Her favorite breakfast meal. I wanted to find out if her tastes were same. As it so happens, they are."

"Isn't that a little unfair? That you have all this foreknowledge of her likes and dislikes?"

Peter shook his head. "It's not like I can _make _her fall in love with me again. Lord knows I'm the luckiest guy in the world for it to happen the first time."

He sighed longingly, and for the first time, Lincoln got a hint of exactly how entangled that now unwound relationship had been.

Peter turned back to his cooking. But before Lincoln could leave the kitchen, Bishop continued over his shoulder.

"It's like she once said; I belong with her."


	4. Chapter 4

Lincoln Lee sighed tiredly and fumbled with his keys in the hallway outside his apartment. It had been a long, frustrating day (mostly involving paperwork), and he was glad to be home at last. Peter must have cooked dinner; the aroma of something spicy and hearty – chilli, perhaps – filled the air outside his door.

He became slightly alarmed when he heard foreign voices inside the apartment, however, and found the door unlocked. Remembering the incident with the Shapeshifter a few days ago, he put his hand on his holstered weapon and cautiously opened the door...

... only to be confronted by the sight of a naked dwarf, standing in his foyer, eating a bowl of chilli.

Well, truth be told, the man wasn't actually a dwarf, and neither was he naked.

At least, not completely.

The man in the foyer wore eyeglasses and was about five feet four inches tall, wearing nothing but socks and boxers.

"Hi there," greeted the man, dribbling chilli on his naked chest. "I'm Markham. Who the hell are you?"

"Uh... I'm Lincoln," replied Agent Lee. "I, um... I sort of _live_ here."

"Yeah, that's what they all say." Markham casually wiped his chest, smearing chilli, then turned and yelled into the living room. "Hey, Bishop! There's a guy named Lincoln here. Says he lives here?"

"Let him in!" Peter yelled back.

"Gee, thanks," Lincoln muttered, walking into his living room. "Don't spill chilli on my floor!" he warned the dwarf.

"Keep your eyes up!" snarled Markham.

He was confronted by the spectacle of four grown men playing poker, each at different stages of nakedness. Judging by the amount of clothing he still had on, Peter was winning. Thankfully, he still had the GPS tether on his leg.

"You're...playing _strip_ poker?" Lee stuttered again.

He wondered if Doctor Bishop had visited earlier in the day and somehow dosed him with something potent.

Peter nodded at him. "Hi, Linc. I see you've already met Markham. These are my buddies: Akim, Mako and Big Eddie."

Lincoln did a double-take.

"Big Eddie? As in, Big Eddie _DiFalco_?"

The rat-like man waved upon hearing his name. "The one and only."

He was wearing a wife-beater and boxer shorts, smoking a disgusting-smelling cigar. He wasn't especially large, either.

"I thought you'd be...bigger," Lincoln said.

Big Eddie just shrugged. "The name helps with the reputation."

"Why are you playing strip poker?" Lincoln asks in a timid voice, dreading the answer.

"It's because I... don't have any money." Peter replied.

Lincoln nodded, then shrugged; he couldn't decide whether or not that had been a stupid question.

"Linc, go get yourself a beer and bowl of chilli," said Peter. "I'm about to literally beat the pants off Akim, here." Peter laid his cards on the table, showing triple aces and the black man stood up and dropped his pants.

"Uh, Markham is in the kitchen," Lincoln muttered.

"So what? He doesn't bite," Peter said with a grin.

Peter smirked, and masterfully shuffled the deck of cards with one hand.

* * *

><p>Lincoln Lee heard a groan, and then another. His head was pounding so badly that it took him a few minutes to realize that it was <em>him<em> who was groaning.

Through a still inebriated haze, Lincoln tried to remember the night before. At some point, a bottle of tequila had appeared from out of nowhere, and Lee had started doing shots with Markham and Akim. After several shots of tequila, playing _strip poker_ had started sounding like a _good _idea.

That would explain why Lincoln found himself laying face down and naked across his bed at some point in the early morning. Someone – Lincoln was assuming it was Peter – had kindly placed a bucket on the floor in front of his face.

Memories of Markham dancing on the balcony in the nude and the smell of Big Eddie's cigars resurfaced all at once. Lincoln grasped for the bucket and vomited, the previous evening's spicy chilli and cheap tequila coming back for a visit.

Following his purge, the bedroom was thrown open noisily behind him. Peter stuck his head in.

"Linc? You're gonna be late for work, buddy," he said. Then he took one look at Lincoln and laughed.

Lincoln rolled over on the bed, not really caring that he was letting it all hang out, so to speak.

"How the hell are you so..._not _hungover?" he asked groggily. "You drank just as much as I did, if not more!"

Peter shook his head. "That was root beer. I never get drunk when I'm running a con. And you owe me a hundred dollars."

Peter pointed at Lee's ankle. Lee looked down.

Around his right ankle was the GPS tether.

"Ah, fuck!"


	5. Chapter 5

Thanks for all the kind comments and reviews. - CorwinOfAmber

* * *

><p>Lincoln barely managed to drag himself down the hallway to his apartment door, dreading what he would find inside <em>this <em>time.

It had been a shitty day. Hangovers and Fringe Division, he soon discovered, do not mix. He could handle the headache and the nausea, and even the embarrassment of having Peter's GPS tether around _his_ ankle, but when Doctor Bishop had begun the autopsy...

In the aftermath of the mess he'd made, he'd been foolish enough to accept one of Doctor Bishop's homemade remedies, ostensibly for his upset stomach. Well, it _had_ quieted the nausea, but Lee had spent the afternoon watching pink elephants in tutus pirouette in the middle of the lab.

"Don't worry," said Astrid. "It happens to everybody that works in this lab."

"The vomiting, or the hallucinations?" he'd asked.

"Both," she'd assured him. "You'll feel better tomorrow."

Lee approached his door with trepidation, resisting the urge to draw his gun and kick in his own door. He listened outside, could hear nothing but Peter talking on the phone. Took a deep breath, opened the door and stepped inside.

"Honey, I'm home," he said weakly.

Peter waved at him from the recliner in front of the TV. He was busy talking on the phone with somebody. He gestured toward the kitchen.

Lincoln entered the kitchen and found a pot of soup on the stove. Instead of eating right away, he decided to change into more casual clothes. Upon entering his bedroom, he found a laundry basket full of his clothes, all neatly folded, lying on his bed.

Surprised, he changed into a tee shirt and sweatpants, went into the kitchen and got himself a bowl of soup, before walking into the living room and sitting on the couch to eat.

"Yeah...you really shouldn't leave sticky notes with important passwords lying around your office, Philip." Peter listened for a minute, then nodded to whoever was on the phone.

"Okay, you should be all set up now. Call me if you need any more help." Peter hung up the phone. "A few weeks ago, I was a consultant for Homeland Security; _now_, I'm Broyles tech support geek," he muttered.

"Why did you do my laundry?" Lincoln asked. "You won the bet."

Peter frowned. "Turns out I can't run a con anymore without my conscience biting me in the ass."

"A con?" Lee glared at him.

Peter looked uncomfortable. "I kind of promised Big Eddie naked pictures of an FBI agent for five grand."

Lincoln stood of suddenly, nearly spilling his soup. "Pete! You son of a–"

Peter gave him a dismissive wave.

"Don't worry," he said. "I traded the pictures I took of you for the ones I took of Big Eddie lying in a compromising position with Markham."

"Oh." Lincoln sat down. "I didn't think either of them swung that way."

"They don't; they were both passed out." Peter shrugged. "I guess the upside to this is that I still made five hundred bucks. The one hundred from you and the other four I made from making them all buy their clothes back."

"None of this explains how you got the tether off your ankle and onto mine," Lincoln said.

"The lock was nothing," began Peter. "I can pick that with my eyes closed and one hand tied behind my back. And it turns out that thing doesn't have a body temperature sensor at all; it's a temperature _difference_ sensor. All I had to do was stick my foot in a bucket of warm water for ten minutes, pick the lock, then put it on your leg."

At Lincoln's look, Peter simply shrugged.

"Pete, what the hell did you do before you joined Fringe Division?" Lincoln asked incredulously.

Peter smirked.

"A little bit of this, a little bit of that," he said. "So, you ready for a night of drinking and Wii Sports?"


	6. Chapter 6

Thanks again to my beta, Uroboros75, without whose tireless work my poorly written good ideas would remain so.

* * *

><p>Saturday afternoon.<p>

With no pressing case on hand, and the last of the paperwork that had accumulated over the past few days finalized, signed in triplicate and turned in, Lincoln Lee had, for the first time in awhile, a day off.

What better way to spend this day off, he thought, then by watching college football alongside Peter in his apartment, armed with beer and furiously hot chicken wings (courtesy of Lincoln's new personal chef).

"It's like chewing on the sun!" Lincoln whined.

His entire face was red and burning, tears flowing like busted fire hydrants. He guzzled the last of his beer, but gained only momentary respite before the searing resumed.

"I know," Peter agreed. "Olivia loved these. Myself? I could barely stand them! Use a gallon of ranch or blue cheese dressing; it helps a little."

Oblivious, Lincoln started to wipe his face, but Peter caught his hand, quick as a pouncing mongoose.

"And never, _ever_ wipe your face after touching these wings!" he warned gravely.

"Why not?" asked Lincoln, somewhat alarmed.

"Suffice it to say that when you get sent to the hospital, you kind of don't make the same mistake twice."

At that moment, a rather timid knock came from the door. Lincoln wiped his hands on a paper towel before rising to answer it. He swung the door open, only to find Astrid Farnsworth, wearing blue jeans and a purple tee shirt, looking rather nervous. An audio-visual headset was perched over her ear, meaning Doctor Bishop was also watching the unfolding scene.

"Um... Hello, Astrid," greeted Lincoln, surprised. "What's up?"

"Hi, Lincoln," she replied, peering into the apartment with curiosity. "Walter wants to talk to Peter. Is he here?"

"I'll go get him." He walked back into the living room, gesturing with his thumb toward the door. "Peter? Astrid's here. She says Walter wants to talk to you."

Peter wiped his hands and went to the door, Lincoln sneaking in a gulp or two of his roommate's half-downed beer while

"Hi, Peter," said Astrid. "Walter has something he'd like to say to you..."

She seemed uncharacteristically agitated, visibly trying to suppress the trembling in her body.

"Okay, then..." Peter then proceeded to address the man who should have been his father with a louder and warmer voice. "Hello, Walter."

"Okay, Walter. What do you want to say to Peter?" Astrid asked. Then her face turned to stone, and she stared into space as she listened to Walter on the other end.

Astrid closed her eyes for moment, then opened them and looked at Peter. Her next words came in gravely, serious monotone.

"Walter says that he realizes that you are his son, and asks that you give him time to work through his emotional issues about having temporally displaced loved ones. He would say that in person if he could."

Then she winced at something more from the earpiece.

Peter frowned and sighed, looked down at the floor.

"That isn't what he said, is it?"

Astrid looked him in the eyes, gauging the chance that a lie would succeed.

She sighed. "...No."

Her lower lip quivered a little as she started receiving more input from Walter's end.

"Walter!" she interrupted. "There's no way I could _ever_ bring myself to say something so cold, let alone to your _son_!"

Her nose flared with anger at whatever she received in reply. "Well, he is! Just because you don't want to accept it doesn't change –"

"Astrid," Peter interjected, placing a hand on her shoulder. "There's something I'd like to say to Walter, if you wouldn't mind."

Astrid hesitated, wondering just what she had gotten herself into, before at last nodding in approval. It couldn't get any worse, could it?

She supposed she would soon find out.

"Walter..." said Peter. "...I forgive you. Whatever you did or didn't do, whatever you think you did, I forgive you. Stop punishing yourself."

Then Peter stopped forward and wrapped Astrid in a hug.

Astrid tensed up, taken aback. "You _do_ realize that Walter can't feel the hug, right?"

"Well, yeah," Peter said sarcastically. "I'm hugging _you_."

"Oh... thanks." Astrid wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her head on his shoulder. Walter remained quiet in the earpiece.

After a few seconds, they parted, and Peter smiled at her.

"Want to watch football and drink some beers with us?" he asked.

Astrid nodded, switching off the A/V headset. "I'd really like that."

"Good," said Peter, ushering her inside. "I hope you like hot wings."


	7. Chapter 7

Lincoln Lee frowned at the messy state of his living room.

The furniture had been pushed back against the walls to allow room for two large whiteboards on easels, now covered in scribbled notes. In the center of the area was a makeshift workbench covered in autopsy instruments. Papers and maps were scattered across the floor, and Peter was dressed in autopsy garb, vivisecting a cockroach on the workbench.

A very _large_ cockroach.

As it so happened, Fringe Division was currently handling two cases at once. Ever the brilliant innovator, Broyles had designated them as Case _A_ and Case _B_, splitting the Division into two teams to cover the augmented workload.

Case _A_, which involved a physicist who had accidentally made himself indestructible through being zapped by a particle accelerator, was assigned to Walter, Olivia and Astrid, and was being worked on out of the Harvard Lab.

Case _B_, which involved reports of prehistoric cockroaches, eight to ten inches long, had been assigned to Lincoln and Peter, and the investigation was being run out of Lincoln's apartment. The roaches had the unsettling habit of screaming when startled or in pain, and were causing quite a stir among the general public.

"How exactly did we get the Giant Screaming Roach case?" asked Peter. "Did you draw the short straw or something?"

Lincoln shook his head, examining a map on the floor with _X_'s on the locations of all known sightings of the roaches.

"Broyles handed out the assignments," explained Agent Lee. "I'm guessing that he may have made concessions for female sensibilities; and I doubt giant screaming _Blattella_ specimens would help Doctor Bishop maintain his precarious grip on reality."

"Well, I'll give you points for using the scientific name for cockroaches in a sentence," Peter replied. "But you know what this means, right? From now on, we'll be forever known as the B-Team. Astrid will never let it go."

He began cutting into the abdomen of a cockroach pinned to a wooden board in front of him. Lincoln winced at the high pitched scream that the roach made; he wondered if they should have invested in some soundproof foam panels for the apartment.

Lincoln grabbed his beer off of a nearby end table before moving to stand beside Peter at the workbench.

"Anything interesting?" Lincoln asked. He looked down at the pinned and flayed-open cockroach on the bench, which had finally stopped screaming. Thank God.

Peter shook his head. "Physiologically, they're cockroaches. There's nothing other than their size that make them stand out. Well, that and the screaming."

Lincoln took a sip of his beer, only to be met with air. Annoyed, he nudged Peter with his elbow.

"Pete, did you drink my beer?" he asked.

"Nope. You must have finished it while marking the maps. You can have mine, though; it's on the kitchen counter by the fridge."

Lee walked into the kitchen, found Peter's beer and picked it up. As he was raising it to his lips, he saw a pair of antennae poke through the hole from inside and start swishing around.

Startled, Lincoln yelped and dropped the can on the floor, then instinctively stomped on it. The giant cockroach inside screamed, its pained wail echoing from within its aluminum enclosure.

Peter stuck his head into the kitchen. "What the hell, Linc?"

"There was a roach inside your beer can!"

On a hunch, Lincoln returned to the living room and inspected the beer can he had abandoned as empty. There was ragged hole chewed into the bottom, and inside was a squirming giant cockroach.

Lee fought back the urge to vomit.

"Peter!" he blurted, retching. "Check the case in the hallway closet!"

Peter ran into the hallway that led to their bedrooms and threw open the closet door. A swarm of giant cockroaches covered the case of beer, busily chewing their way into individual cans.

"Holy shit, Linc! I think the roaches are alcoholics!" Peter called out.

Thinking fast, Peter grabbed a large sized plastic garbage bag off a shelf in the closet. He covered the roach-covered case of beer with it, then upended the bag, capturing all the roaches inside. The imprisoned bugs began an eerie chorus of screams. Peter pulled the ties on the bag closed before vigorously slamming the bag against the wall until the screaming all but stopped.

He turned to see an alarmed, wide-eyed Lincoln Lee coming up the hallway.

"The breweries!" Lee gasped in horror.

* * *

><p>Fringe Division – or more precisely, Broyles and his <em>A<em> and _B_ teams – were gathered in Lincoln Lee's apartment, gloomily listening to news reports on the television. Walter was also watching, present by proxy via Astrid's headset.

"... _Reports of infestations of the giant cockroaches are continuing to come in from across the country. They appear to be attracted to breweries and other locations housing large concentrations of beer, such as bars and some restaurants, but they are otherwise harmless. This new species of cockroach has been given the name of _Bishop's Screaming Cockroach _by authorities after the scientist who discovered them, Doctor Walter Bishop; though a proper scientific name has yet to be decided on within the scientific community._

_In related news, the price of beer has increased tenfold in the past week, and reports of suicide in the southern United States, Germany and Ireland have risen by significant amounts..."_

Peter turned off the television.

"_Bishop's Screaming Cockroach._ Great," he said bitterly. "_Just_ great."

Astrid spoke up, pointing to her A/V headset. "Walter says that the sudden appearance of these cockroaches can be seen as a mild form of the Blight affecting the Other Side. They don't have sheep or avocados or coffee Over There anymore; soon, we won't have any more beer Over Here."

The group sat in morose silence for a few moments until Peter voiced what everyone was thinking.

"I guess it's time we started opening trading lanes with the Other Side," he said. "Their beer for our coffee."


	8. Chapter 8

Once again, thanks to my beta, Uroboros75, and thanks to all my readers and reviewers.

* * *

><p>Lincoln Lee walked quickly down the corridor to his apartment, followed close behind by his alternate self and Olivia's red-haired double.<p>

This was going to be interesting.

"So your roommate works for Fringe Division too, huh?" Captain Lee asked.

"Yeah," replied Agent Lee. "He's a civilian consultant. Kind of our jack-of-all-trades. He actually got on the team by decrypting one of those new Shapeshifter data disks for us."

Captain Lee and Liv halted in unison.

"He can decrypt those things? _We_ can't even do that. And supposedly they're from our universe..."

Liv interrupted. "Well, we don't _know_ that for sure yet. They _could_ be from a third universe."

Lincoln hadn't considered that. Maybe the reason Peter could decrypt the disks was because he, like they, hailed from a third nearby universe; while he didn't vocalize these thoughts, he made a mental note to ask Pete about it later.

"We have a bunch of those disks on our side..." Liv continued. "Do you think he could decrypt them for us?"

Lincoln shrugged. "We can ask. But we can't really _order_ him to do anything, though. You'll see in a minute."

He led them to his apartment door, then tried the knob. Unlocked.

Good. Pete was home.

He opened the door and walked in.

"Honey, I'm home!" he called. "And I brought guests for dinner!"

An annoyed sigh came from the living room. "Linc, I told you..."

Peter looked up from the computer he was working at, surprise registering on his face as he caught sight of their guests. "Uh..."

Lincoln awkwardly made introductions. "Peter, this is, uh...Captain Lee, and... Olivia Dunham..."

Peter stood and shook hands with Lee's double, then rudely turned away and sat down, turning back to the computer, leaving Liv standing there with her hand extended and mouth open. She immediately switched to a tense, military stance, hands clasped behind her, eyes drilling holes in the back of Peter's skull.

Great. He could hear Broyles yelling at him about _diplomatic incidents_ already. When they were over here, the other Fringe Divison was to have _full co-operation_.

"So..." Captain Lee stammered. "Lincoln tells us you can decrypt the new Shapeshifter disks."

"I can." Peter kept working on the computer program he was writing, not even bothering to look at him.

Olivia chose that moment to insert herself into the conversation. "We have one disk here, and a bunch of them back home. Could you decrypt them for us?

Peter sighed and swiveled in his chair to face her, looking her up and down. "I could – in fact, I'd love nothing more – but unfortunately, I don't work for you."

Olivia's eyes shot fire. Peter faced it with an amused expression on his face. Captain Lee looked puzzled by the power struggle going on, whereas Lincoln gave a frustrated sigh.

"Pete, what do you need?" he asked.

"My contract says I consult for Fringe Division – _our_ Fringe Division. I suppose I would need to be given the disks by someone from our Fringe Division, or a direct order from Broyles to decrypt them." He shrugged. "I'm just following my contract."

Lincoln had a suspicious feeling that there was something _else_ going on here, but couldn't bring himself to say anything in front of the others. He tugged on his double's jacket sleeve and cocked his head toward the hallway outside the apartment. Captain Lee followed him out.

"Are you sure we should leave the two of them alone in there?" Captain Lee asked. "What's his problem with Liv, anyways?"

"I don't know. Peter won't start anything, though; he's normally very laid back." Lee fished out his phone and called Broyles.

"It's not Peter I'm worried about," his double said. "Liv is armed!"

When they re-entered the apartment fifteen minutes later, the atmosphere had completely changed. Peter and Liv were sitting on the couch together, not touching, but close, and talking animatedly about something, but they stopped immediately when the Lee's enter the living room.

Liv smiled and waved at Lee from the couch. "Hiya, Poindexter!"

"Uh...hi?" Lee answered. "Peter, Broyles says to –"

"Oh, we worked things out." Liv interrupted him. "Didn't we, Peter?"

Both Lee's blinked owlishly in surprise, a funhouse mirror reflection of each other's mannerisms, making Liv and Peter erupt into laughter.

"I told you!" Peter told Liv, who nodded, snickering.

"Okay, then," Liv said as she and Peter both stood to shake hands. "Linc and I will be back this evening with the disks. Can you have them decrypted by tomorrow morning?"

"No problem. Just keep your end of the bargain."

Liv smiled at him. "Then we have a deal. It was nice to meet you, Peter!"

Peter smiled back politely. "Likewise."

After their guests had left, Lincoln Lee finally woke up from his stupor.

"Pete? What was that all about?" he asked, fuming.

Peter dismissed him with a lazy wave.

"You clearly don't understand the finer points of negotiation," he said, sitting down at the computer again.

"Negotiation?" said Lee. "For _what_?"

* * *

><p>Lee and Dunham knocked at the apartment door at precisely eight o'clock that evening. When Lincoln answered the door, he found both of them carrying heavy duffle bags. He ushered them into the living room, where Peter sat on the couch watching TV.<p>

Captain put his duffle on the computer desk. It contained a dozen Shapeshifter data disks.

But nobody was really interested in that.

"Did you get it?" Peter asked Liv.

Liv nodded. "Yep!"

She put her duffle on the living room floor and unzipped it to reveal...a case of beer. Peter got up from the couch and walked into the kitchen.

"I assume that's the cheapest swill you could find?" he asked her as he walked past.

Liv winked. "You bet!"

Peter returned to the living room and tossed a shiny foil bag of coffee beans to Liv. "Two pounds of Guatemala's worst for a case of –"

"_Dooley's Donkey Piss_," said Lincoln, who had crouched down to inspect their booty. He took a can of beer out of the case and tossed it to Peter, who opened it and sampled its contents. He made a face.

"Well," he said. "It's certainly beer. Come back tomorrow morning and I'll have a hearty breakfast and a lot of data for you."

The four of them shook hands and exchanged goodbyes. When their world-hopping guests had departed, Lincoln got himself a can of beer and plopped down on the couch beside his roommate. They clinked their cans of cheap ale together in a toast.

"To inter-dimensional coffee smuggling!" said Lee.


	9. Chapter 9

_Thanks again to Uroboros75 for the speedy beta read on this._

* * *

><p>"Doctor Bishop," Lincoln growled into his headset. "Please tell me you didn't mail that prehistoric frog to my apartment in an attempt to kill my roommate?"<p>

Lee stood with Agents Dunham and Farnsworth in the center of a swarm of ambulances, squad cars and hazmat vehicles that surrounded the apartment building where he lived. The building was in the process of being evacuated, and all FBI agents present wore full tactical gear in preparation for entering and retrieving Peter Bishop, who with any luck was still alive.

"Of course not!" came the tinny voice through their radio rigs. "I was trying to... _start a rapport_ with him. I've been treating him so badly ever since he arrived, and the Peter I knew had always enjoyed playing with colorful frogs; this was certainly the most colorful frog I've ever seen!"

Lee looked at Farnsworth and Dunham, who each shrugged and nodded in turn. That actually did sound reasonable, coming from Walter.

"That was long before I discovered the specimen's hallucinogenic properties, however," Walter added. "Or its exponential growth and reproduction rate, for that matter."

All three agents winced as a loud, echoing noise erupted from within their ear pieces.

"Walter?" asked Astrid. "What was that? Are you all right?"

"Yes, yes, I'm fine, dear," assured Walter. "The tadpoles were getting too big for their aquariums, so I've placed them in the isolation tank. It would seem that one of them is currently in the process of maturing into its final adult state. Don't worry; I've set something setup to electrocute them if I have to."

Olivia spoke up. "Walter? Do you have any idea of how big the frogs will get?"

"I'm afraid not. The largest specimen I currently have is approximately three feet long – not including the legs, of course – but his growth appears to be slowing down. I hypothesize that this may be a result of not having eaten anything for the past several hours. Or perhaps it was the horseradish on my sandwich..."

Lee shook his head. "The building is clear. I'm going in."

Olivia shook her head as she equipped her gas mask.

"I'm the one that goes in!" she said, the mask muffling her voice.

"Olivia," he said. "It's my apartment, and my friend. I insist that you at least let me come with you."

As much as he had come to admire the tall, blonde FBI agent, she could be inconveniently stubborn at times.

Dunham considered his words for a minute; she then shoved another gas mask into his hands and strode toward the building.

Lee found that he couldn't wear both his glasses and the gas mask at the same time, so he handed the spectacles to Astrid for safekeeping before hurrying after Olivia while pulling the mask over his face.

He hoped he wouldn't need to shoot anything in there.

The duo walked carefully through the empty corridors and up the stairs to the second floor. Then they proceeded as quietly as possible to Lee's apartment door, crouching on either side of the door.

"What now?" asked Lee.

"What do you mean, _what now_?" responded Olivia.

"Have you ever raided an apartment with a giant prehistoric frog inside?" queried Lee.

Olivia snickered despite the gravity of the situation. "No. I can't say that I have."

"Oh, I thought there might have been some standard procedure in Fringe division or something," said Lee. "Too bad."

Just then, the apartment door exploded outward into the corridor, shattering to mere splinters. They caught a glimpse of a pink slimy tongue just before it withdrew into the apartment.

"Holy shit!" exclaimed Olivia. "We should have brought the M-16's!"

"Peter?" yelled Lee, since stealth was now out of the question. "Are you okay in there?"

The only reply was a loud croak that shook the building.

"He's probably unconscious from the fumes," said Olivia. "Where could he be?"

"Well, knowing Peter, he would either be cooking or on the computer in the living room."

Olivia could hear his worry for his friend through the mask he was wearing. She drew her pistol, as did Lee, and they crouched in unison, primed for action.

"Okay, Lincoln," she said. "I'll go in first; you cover me. On the count of three. One...two..."

"Hey guys! What's up?"

They jumped, then turned to see Peter carrying a laundry basket, who had come up the corridor while they were distracted.

"Peter!" Olivia hissed. "What are you doing? Get out of the building! There are hallucinogenic fumes in the air!"

"There are?" Peter asked, sounding dubious. The frog inside the apartment chose that moment to stick its head into the corridor and croak at them before withdrawing into the depths of Lincoln's pad.

"Oh, I see what you mean," Peter said, remarkably calm given the circumstances. "I just saw a giant multicolored frog poke its head out the door."

Lincoln found Peter's centered composure to be rather odd; but he then reminded himself that Peter already had several years in an alternate history's Fringe Division under his belt, so it came to no surprise that he would be unfazed by something so surreal.

"Peter," said Lee. "That frog in there is real!"

Peter looked amused. "Ah, but if there are hallucinogenic fumes in the air, then how can you know that _for sure_?"

Olivia and Lincoln looked blankly at each other; it was actually a good question.

"As a wise man once said," Peter added, "reality is just a matter of perception."

"You know what? Let's just call in the SWAT team to deal with the frog," suggested Olivia.

Peter smirked and started walking down the corridor towards the exit, still carrying his laundry in the basket.

"Tell the SWAT team not to shoot it in the legs," asked Peter. "They look like good eating."


	10. Chapter 10

Lincoln Lee shivered and stamped his feet in the cold dark night as Peter knocked on the front door of the Markham residence.

"Maybe he's not here?" Lee asked hopefully.

The two of them were being forced to seek out temporary shelter until Lincoln's apartment was fumigated and professionally cleaned and repaired after the beer-swilling cockroach and polychromatic frog incidents. Lee was surprised and grateful that Broyles had volunteered to pay for the repairs and cleanup; it was probably the only reason he hadn't been evicted by his landlady yet.

Of course, the local SWAT team was really the reason they'd been turned out for the next few nights. They had apparently decided to use the incident as a field training exercise, and had proceeded to use flash-bang grenades, sub-machine guns and a _machete_ to slay the giant frog that had taken residence in his apartment.

"No, I told him what time we'd be here," said Peter. "He would never pass up a chance for me to owe him one."

They'd spent the afternoon loading their possessions into Lincoln's car. Peter, of course, had next to nothing, since he'd only returned to existence scant months before, and his possessions filled one army rucksack which took five minutes to pack at most. So with plenty of time to kill, Peter had spent the rest of the afternoon mocking Lincoln's comparatively abundant and glamorous material goods as he helped him pack.

The door opened. The two Fringe Division agents were confronted with the sight of a four foot tall chimpanzee wearing a stereotypical butler uniform. The chimp held a crumpled piece of paper out to Peter.

"Oh, God," Peter said in a resigned tone. "He was serious about the butler-monkey."

Peter took the note from the chimpanzee and carefully smoothed it out against the wall, then read it out loud.

"Dear Friends" said Peter in an imitation of Markham. "Sorry, but I had to step out to get some supplies for your visit. The monkey's name is Merve. He can help you move in. Don't worry, he's harmless; just make sure you tip him. I'll be back soon."

Peter sighed, then turned to the chimp. "Okay, Merve! Follow me."

He started walking back towards the car, followed by his simian assistant.

Lincoln stammered. "Uh...I'm not sure I want a chimpanzee touching my stuff."

Peter smirked. "Whoa, Linc, I didn't know you were a racist! Or...a _specieist_?"

"I'm not! It's just... Where have his hands been, you know?"

Peter laughed at his squeamishness. "Probably nowhere Markham's haven't. Look, he's an extra pair of hands. We can get the car unpacked in ten minutes tops with his help."

Lincoln couldn't think of a good argument against that logic. And sure enough, the chimp proved to be a capable porter, and they had the car unloaded in ten minutes flat.

The chimp added the last suitcase to the neat pile on the foyer, then turned to Peter, clapped his hands and held one out, palm up.

Peter looked amused. "I think Merve wants a tip!"

Lincoln chuckled. "What do you tip a monkey, anyway?"

"Markham probably has treats in the fridge for him." Peter entered the kitchen and opened the fridge. "Huh."

The refrigerator was filled with small, green, unlabeled bottles. He pulled one bottle out and used the can opener on his multitool to open it. He took a sniff and winced, then cautiously took a sip, and proceeded to have a coughing fit.

Lincoln entered the kitchen. "Hey, Pete? You aright?"

Peter nodded, still coughing. He handed the open bottle to Lincoln.

"What's this?" Lincoln said, eying the bottle with distrust.

"Markham's Best. It seems he has started making _moonshine_."

Both of them were dumbfounded when Merve the chimpanzee reached one long arm into the kitchen, snatched the bottle out of Lincoln's hand and took a sip. Then the chimp casually walked into Markham's living room, sipping shine.

Lincoln did a double take. "Were we supposed to give the monkey moonshine?"

Peter shrugged. "He seems used to it...let's see what happens."

* * *

><p>Upon returning home, Ed Markham knew something was amiss. His instincts, honed by voracious reading of mystery novels, caused every little detail to stand out. The front door, hanging from a single hinge. The fire in the garbage can. The smell of burning corn whiskey.<p>

These were clues that someone of less perceptive nature would easily miss.

He wondered if his friends from the FBI – Peter Bishop and that Lee guy – had been attacked by a serial killer or international terrorist in his home. He desperately hoped so; he was in need of a good story to tell at the bookseller's convention next month.

Markham cautiously opened the front door. His house was a mess. Furniture was thrown around, pictures were askew, and there were unknown, organic substances splashed on the walls. He proceeded into the living room, to find Peter Bishop using a fire extinguisher to put out the inferno engulfing his couch, and Lincoln Lee giving CPR to a monkey in a butler costume.

This was going to be a _great story_, he thought. He wondered how he could make himself out to be the hero.

Peter jumped when he noticed his diminutive friend.

"Oh, hey, Markham...um...we're sorry, but the chimpanzee got into your stash of moonshine..."

Markham looked at Peter, puzzled. Behind Peter, he saw Lee seal his lips to the chimp's mug and exhale forcefully into the primate's lungs.

"...Chimpanzee?" Markham asked.

Bishop glared at him. "Merve! Your _butler-monkey_!"

Markham shook his head. "What are you talking about? I don't _have_ a chimpanzee! I was just pulling your leg about that!"

The three of them froze in stunned silence for a moment as the couch smouldered and the chimpanzee cradled in Lee's arms finally started gasping for breath on his own, until at last Lee verbalized the mystery each of them was pondering.

"..._Then who the hell's monkey is _this_?_"


	11. Chapter 11

_If you're wondering - there's not actually any overall story to these, they just come to me, usually late at night, and I write it up and send it off to my beta, Uroboros75. Usually later that same night. I have ideas for at least two more in my head right now, and we will learn whose monkey it is, at some point._

_Oh, and thank you all my readers, and have a Happy New Year._

* * *

><p>Lincoln Lee crouched beside his roommate with his gun raised, trying to ignore the rat licking his ankles. Peter Bishop was hunched over a blocky device whose topside panel had been forced open, digging at the insides with his multi-tool.<p>

The blinking green L.E.D on the front of the contraption currently read _02:43_.

"So..." Peter's voice sounded tinny over the radio. "Could anyone remind me how I ended up in the sewers with Lincoln defusing a _pocket nuke_?"

The other members of Fringe Division were crammed into a communications van outside the sewage treatment plant on the outskirts of Boston. Technically, the bomb wasn't a nuke, but calling it an _antimatter catalyzed fusion warhead_ would just be pedantic.

Lincoln twitched his leg, throwing the rat off his ankle. He glanced at the device, sweat rolling down his forehead. The display now read _02:34_.

The rat returned to lick his ankle some more.

"Uh..." Olivia spoke up, using a teasing tone despite the tension. "You volunteered, remember?"

"Oh, that's right!" Peter pulled a set of alligator clips linked by copper wire out of his tactical vest, then hooked them to two wires inside the device.

"And you said you've done this before," said Lincoln.

"Yeah, about that," Peter said. "I kind of lied."

Peter smirked at the dead silence that followed. Lincoln was glaring at him, angrier than he'd ever seen him before.

"Wait..." said Olivia over the radio."If you lied about that, what _else_ are you lying about?"

"You _do_ have a doctorate in physics from MIT, right?" asked Astrid.

"Uh, no," Peter replied. He used the knife blade on his multi-tool to strip the insulation off a yellow wire. "I've never even graduated from high school."

Lincoln glanced at the display; it read _02:11_. He gave the rat licking his ankle a murderous glare.

"You're not a world chess champion, are you?" asked Olivia.

"Nope!" Peter replied with a smile. The bomb started beeping frantically.

Lincoln kicked the rat down the tunnel. It landed with a splash, and then came scurrying back to lick his ankle some more. He sighed. At least if the bomb went off, he wouldn't have to endure the damn rat.

The display now read _01:59_.

"You _didn't_ tour with Wynton Marsalis?"

That was Broyles, surprisingly.

"Well, actually..." Peter began. He paused dramatically for ten seconds as he rearranged some wires and clipped two more together. The beeping stopped. "...No."

Lincoln sighed. He wondered if he should name the rodent getting intimately acquainted with his lower limbs.

The display now read _01:33_.

"And you don't speak ten languages," accused Olivia.

"Nope." Peter tied the ends of two sparking wires together, wincing at the painful jolts of electricity in his digits. "Only five."

Lincoln tried petting the rat. It snapped at his fingers before returning to licking him. When he looked over, the display read _01:17_.

"So, Dunham," Peter said, wetting his singed fingertips in his mouth before stripping another two wires. "If I manage to disarm this thing and save us and the northern half of Boston, will you be impressed enough to let me take you out to dinner?"

In the van, Olivia glanced at her colleagues and shrugged. "Sure, why not?"

"Don't sound so thrilled," Peter chuckled. "It just so happens that I've just managed to disarm my first nuke."

He smiled at the cheering that erupted over the radio link.

Peter exhaled and rocked back on his heels, stretched his arms over his head to relieve the tension in his shoulders. He looked at Lincoln and grinned.

Lincoln noticed that the display read _00:59_...

_...And was continuing to count down._

"Uh..." Lincoln stuttered. "Uh!"

Peter frowned at him. "What?"

Lincoln flailed in the general direction of the bomb, still making incomprehensible noises. Peter looked down the corridor in the direction he was pointing, but couldn't see anything but sewage and more tunnels.

The display continued to count down.

..._00:47_..._00:46_.

"Clock! Clock!" Lincoln gasped. Peter looked at his watch. Finally, Lincoln lunged forward and tapped loudly on the L.E.D. Panel.

"Oh!" Peter said. "Don't worry, Linc; I disconnected that first thing. It's meaningless."

Peter started putting his tools away, sliding pliers and screwdrivers into various pockets on his vest. Then a loud gunshot startled him, and echoed through the tunnel. Peter fell backwards into the waste flowing past them.

Lincoln clutched his smoking pistol, glaring murderously at the soggy pile of meat that lay at his ankles.

"Damn rat," Lincoln Lee said in a tone of victory.


	12. Chapter 12

_Suggested music to enhance this chapter: Monkey Gone to Heaven by The Pixies or Another Postcard (With Chimpanzees) by Barenaked Ladies_

* * *

><p>Olivia Dunham gritted her teeth and endured as she listened to Lincoln Lee talk about a chimp in a butler suit and why the FBI had to pay for repairs to Ed Markham's house.<p>

A story which unsurprisingly involved Peter Bishop.

She groaned and rubbed the bridge of her nose as she felt the daily migraine start. During the day, it was a migraine at the first mention of Peter's name. At night, however...

...she would experience the most unusual sex dreams with a man she had only met but a few months previously.

Peter Bishop in a tiger costume.

Peter Bishop in a hot tub full of warm honey.

Peter Bishop wearing a sombrero and nothing else, serenading her like a Mariachi singer.

Peter Bishop sandwiched between two supersized waffles, covered in maple syrup.

In these often surreal, yet vivid dreams, she would always have the searing hot sex she never had in real life. But alas, she always woke up gasping and sweating – and lately, screaming in frustration – before the sweet relief of the happy ending.

Masturbation didn't help. She'd tried.

Oh God, she'd tried.

But it only made her more frustrated.

The worst part was that in waking life, Peter Bishop was a sweet, considerate man who hadn't given her any reason to distrust him. True, his manner of simply popping into existence was kind of sketchy, but past that and the smirk she wanted to slap off his face, he'd been an absolute gentleman.

He made it clear through his actions as opposed to his words that he cared deeply about her.

Lee was saying something about Walter examining the monkey. She glanced out into the lab; it looked more like Walter was trying to get the monkey stoned, but who was she to judge?

Olivia started fumbling with her bottle of pills, lights starting to dance at the edges of her vision; it was going to be a bad one. Lee, in his credit, recognized her migraine coming on. He got her a cup of water, turned off the lights in her office and shut the door very quietly as he left.

Olivia lay down on the couch to try to take a nap after signing off on repairs for Markham's house. Maybe when she woke she could figure out a way to justify it as a Fringe event.

* * *

><p>When she woke hours later, the sunlight slanting through the windows indicated that it was late-afternoon. Her headache had been replaced by an odd, yet pleasant, and very familiar floating sensation.<p>

"Shit," she muttered. "Contact high."

It had probably helped alleviate the migraine.

The lab was hazy with marijuana fumes. After hunting through the fog for a few minutes, she finally found Astrid, Walter and Merve the chimpanzee – who was now wearing a labcoat and eyeglasses – in the far corner of the lab, sitting in recliners in a semicircle and watching cartoons on the lab's television. She saw Merve take a long draw on a stubby joint and pass it to Walter.

"Uh... hi guys," Olivia said, grinning. She was too stoned herself to be upset. "Have you seen Agent Lee?"

Astrid started giggling. "Agent _Pee_!"

Then she collapsed on the floor, continuing to giggle. Merve patted her head fondly.

"Agent Dunham!" Walter said fondly. "I have surprising news about Merve."

Walter took a long drag on the joint in his hand, then passed it to Astrid, who was still giggling on the floor. He stared into space.

"Walter? What did you want to tell me about the monkey?" Olivia asked, after it became apparent he'd lost his focus.

Walter snapped out of it, looking at Olivia like he'd forgotten she was there.

"Agent Dunham! I have surprising news about Merve." At Olivia's amused nod, he continued. "It would appear that our friend here is not a chimpanzee, but is in fact a genetic _chimera_. I was able to discern at least a dozen unique strains of primate DNA in his genome sequence."

"Wow! I smell Brown Betty," said Peter as he strode out of the marijuana mist with Lincoln Lee. He carried a cardboard tray with several coffees, one of which he handed to Olivia.

"Black, one sugar," he repeated like a mantra.

Olivia was overcome by a wave of mixed emotions, no doubt enhanced by the clouds of Brown Betty she'd been breathing for the past ten minutes. There was lust, yes, but it was buried under general fondness and affection. He'd really been so kind to her these past few months.

Peter returned her smile. "What's up?"

"Walter was just explain–"

She stopped, her eyes drawn to the chimpanzee in the lab coat, and when she spoke, all spaced-out eyes turned to her.

"Wait...um...why is Merve _glimmering_?"

* * *

><p><em>I have to credit my beta, Uroboros75, for suggesting that Merve is from the Other Side. The rest of the insanity is my own.<em> _Everybody have a good weekend._


	13. Chapter 13

_Again, thanks to my beta reader, Uroboros75, and all my readers._ - Corwin

* * *

><p>TWO WEEKS AGO – OVER THERE<p>

"This is the stupidest case we've ever been assigned to!" groused Liv Dunham as she ducked behind a stack of shipping crates.

The warehouse they were currently assaulting was filled with packing crates containing various sorts of fruits. The crates had been rearranged into a defensive structure in the center of the warehouse.

It looked like nothing so much as a fairy tale castle. High walls, corner towers, even a central keep. Olivia wondered if, given more time, the monkeys would have dug a moat.

"Liv, _down_!" Charlie pushed her head down protectively, a mere instant before a hurled tomato splattered across the top of the crate she was hiding behind.

The chimeric chimpanzee that had hurled the fruit hooted with excitement as he hung by one hand from a crossbeam, thirty feet above them. The chimp caught another tomato tossed up by one of his compatriots below, and hurled it with deadly accuracy. The plump, juicy projectile collided with Captain Lincoln Lee's face at high velocity.

Lee ducked behind another stack of crates to wipe the mass of pulp and seeds from his face. Liv couldn't help it anymore. She started laughing hysterically at the absurdity of it all, drawing annoyed glares from Lincoln and Charlie.

After a minute, Charlie and Lincoln joined her, their chuckling blending with the hooting of the troop of genetically engineered primates, safe behind the walls of their fortress of packing crates.

* * *

><p>OVER HERE – NOW<p>

Peter ruined the pot party by turning off the TV, collecting all the joints he could find and setting up several industrial fans to blow the marijuana smoke out of the lab.

They all gathered in Walter's room to discuss recent developments.

"So...Merve is a genetically engineered primate from the Other Side." Olivia summed up what they knew. "Do we know anything else?"

"He showed up at Markham's house in a butler suit with a note," Peter added. "The note was written generically enough that we assumed he was Markham's butler-monkey."

"Which begs the question – why did the Other Side send over a genetically engineered butler-monkey? Is he a spy?" interjected Lincoln.

Astrid, who still looked embarrassed by her behavior while under the influence, turned to Walter. "Walter? Can you add anything to the discussion?"

"Yes!" Walter said as he angrily gnawed on a Red Vine. "I was about to, before Peter rudely ruined our afternoon of Brown Betty and Rocky and Bullwinkle cartoons. I measured Merve's IQ at 197."

Peter raised an eyebrow. "One point higher than yours?"

"Seven points higher than yours!" Walter shot back; then in an undertone, "Although he's probably lost a few from all the drugs I've been giving him."

Peter rolled his eyes. "As have we all."

* * *

><p>OVER THERE<p>

Liv and Charlie attempted to charge the front gate of Monkey Castle, but were met by an impressive volley of citrus from the chimps on the walls. Apparently, smaller monkeys inside the castle had set up an ammo supply line for the chimpanzees manning the walls.

"That's it!" Liv declared when she and Charlie had finally retreated. "I'm going to use a flash-bang!"

She pulled one of the non-lethal devices from her belt, but Charlie caught her wrist before she could throw it.

"Liv, no! The _Non-Human Humane Society_ would have our badges!" he protested.

"Screw the NHHS!" said Liv. She twisted her wrist out of Charlies grip and threw the grenade.

Merve the genetically engineered super genius chimpanzee snatched the grenade out of the air and hurled it back in a split second. It landed between Liv and Charlie and detonated immediately, overloading their central nervous systems with a burst of light and sound.

Unsurprisingly, Liv woke up cradled in Lincoln's arms. Charlie was crouched nearby, shaking his head like a dog whose ear had been blow into.

"Great work, Liv," Lincoln said. His tone was somewhere between bitter and mocking.

"What?" she drawled, still dazed.

Lincoln helped her to her feet, then led her around the wall of stacked crates. The primate defenders had apparently abandoned their posts, and were now all occupied with eating the fruit in the crates. In the center of the small fortress, three four foot tall harmonic rods had been arranged in a triangle, four feet to a side.

"There was very little damage to the structure of our universe. Apparently, Merve had it on a one second timer," Lee said.

Liv gasped in amazement. "The monkey crossed over?"

Lee nodded. "How the hell are we going to explain this to the other Fringe Team? We can't operate in their territory without their authorization."

Charlie joined them, the ringing in his ears having subsided.

"I think we need to talk to the Secretary," he said solemnly.

* * *

><p>OVER HERE<p>

Fringe Division was still discussing the status of the Monkey From the Other Side when Olivia's phone buzzed.

"It's Broyles!" she announced to everybody present. She went into her office to take the call.

Lincoln spoke up. "Hey? Where's Merve?"

Astrid frowned. "I left him watching cartoons..."

They fanned out through the lab, looking for the subject of their debate. After exhausting the obvious places for a monkey to hide, they started checking the less obvious, like the isolation tank. No sign of Merve was found.

Olivia emerged from her office. "Well, Broyles says that the Other Side has requested an emergency meeting at the Bridge, nine o'clock tomorrow morning..."

"What about?" Peter asked.

"No idea...Broyles said they would provide details at the meeting tomorrow."

Everyone was startled by a wail from Walter's room. They all rushed to see what the fuss was about.

They found Walter crouching on the floor, frantically searching through boxes that had apparently been stowed under the bed.

"All of the Brown Betty is missing! Even the seeds!" Walter exclaimed. "That filthy genius primate _stole my weed_!"


	14. Chapter 14

_As always, thanks to Uroboros75 for his beta reading skills, and to you, my readers. I never intended this "story" to go on this long, and I have other Fringe fanfic to write, so don't be surprised if this story starts to update slower. This one may never "end" in a conventional sense, however.  
><em>

* * *

><p>Olivia Dunham arrived at the lab earlier than usual; a joint meeting with the alternate Fringe Division had been scheduled. She was surprised to find that Peter and Lincoln had arrived before her.<p>

Peter greeted her with a smile, as he usually did. Then he stepped forward and took her hand – she thrilled at his touch.

She stammered."Peter, I..."

With a flourish, Peter uncapped a black permanent marker and wrote a blocky "1" on the back of her hand. She looked up at him, confused.

"He got me while I was sleeping," Lincoln Lee said.

Olivia looked at him. Lincoln had a big, blocky "1" written across his forehead, and seemed quite annoyed. She looked at the other members of Fringe Division. Astrid and Walter both had markings on the back of their hands.

"It's so I can tell you from your alternate," Peter explained. "I've had a problem with that, in the past."

Peter looked at Broyles, who stared back impassively. When Peter moved toward him, Broyles interrupted.

"Do it and I'll shoot you dead, Bishop."

Peter shrugged, capped the marker and put it back in his pocket.

Broyles turned to the assembled Division and did a good impression of a Marine drill sergeant.

"Okay, people. Astrid will stay at the lab with Doctor Bishop and Gene the Cow. The rest of us have a meeting with the Other Side on Liberty Island. I want everyone on their best behaviour. Remember, we're representing our world in our dealings with the Other Side. So that means no slouching and no chewing of gum. Move out!"

Moving out, of course, consisted of walking to the parking lot and loading everyone into a Nissan Leaf.

Broyles, being the tallest, was the hardest to pack into the small electric vehicle. He ended up crammed into the back seat beside Lincoln, torso canted forward, knees drawn up toward his chest, long arms spilling over into Lincoln's personal space.

Olivia and Peter rode in comparative comfort in the driver's and passenger seats respectively.

"You remembered to charge this thing last night, didn't you?" asked Peter.

Olivia nodded, as she slowly pulled the vehicle out of the parking lot and onto city streets. "Of course I did. The FBI even sprang for a rapid recharge station at my apartment building."

Peter fiddled with the radio, eventually settling on an oldies jazz station he knew no one else in the car could stand for long. He settled back in his seat to watch their expressions.

They rode in relative peace for about half an hour before Lincoln made an inquiry.

"Hey...What's that beeping?"

Peter turned off the radio and listened. There was definitely a faint beeping noise. "It seems to be coming from the back, you guys. Maybe under the seat?"

A quick search of the vehicle commenced, culminating in Lincoln being forced to put his face in Broyles crotch to reach the beeping object.

"It's a Geiger counter!" Lincoln handed the boxy device to Peter. "But why is it beeping?"

"Oh, I understand," Peter said. "The car was made in Japan. The nuclear accident."

"The car is _radioactive_?" asked Lincoln in alarm.

"Yes, but not enough to harm us. You probably get dosed with more radiation from the lab," Peter replied.

Dunham, Broyles and Lee each did a double take. Broyles neck made a popping noise and everybody winced in sympathy.

"Why would we get dosed with radiation from the lab?" asked Olivia.

"Oh... I guess I forgot to tell you," Peter began. "Walter tried to replicate an atomic bomb last week."

Lincoln, clearly the junior member of the team, was the only one to be surprised. "He tried to build an A-bomb?"

"Just a little one. And I talked him out of it. I really shouldn't have gotten him that book on the Manhattan Project."

He turned the radio back on, hoping some smooth jazz would chill everyone out.

Some miles later, Olivia and Peter heard a complaint from the back seat.

"Stop touching me!" Lincoln said.

"I can't help it," replied Broyles. "I'm too big to fit in this car."

Olivia and Peter shared a look of genuine frustration.

Peter glanced into the back seat. Broyles long limbs were indeed spilling over into Lincolns personal space – not that anything could be done about the situation.

"Look guys, we have a long trip ahead of us. Just try not to bother each other. I promise, we'll stop halfway and everyone can get out and stretch."

They continued down the highway, with only intermittent arguing between Broyles and Lincoln in the backseat, which Peter and Olivia did their best to ignore.

An hour into the trip, Olivia felt the strange pressure in her head that signaled the onset of another migraine. She pulled the small, energy efficient vehicle to the side of the road.

"What are you doing?" Peter asked, "There isn't an exit here..."

"We're in trouble now..." Lincoln muttered.

"Your fault," muttered Broyles in reply.

Olivia glanced into the rear seat before replying.

"Nobody is in trouble. Peter, I'm getting a migraine. You drive."

Peter stared at her. "I don't have a driver's license. I didn't exist until a few months ago, remember?"

Olivia growled. "_Peter._"

Broyles spoke up, annoyance in his voice. "Bishop, take the wheel, that's an order."

Peter shrugged, and quickly switched places with Olivia, who produced two pills from an inside pocket of her coat and took them with a swig of water from a plastic bottle. She then lay back and closed her eyes.

A half hour of silence ensued, followed by Lincoln's voice.

"I have to pee."

Peter looked at his reflection in the rear view mirror. "Lincoln, I told you to go before we left."

Olivia glanced into the back seat. "Can you hold it for a while? We just got on the freeway."

Broyles, his voice muffled by his contorted position, replied. "You don't have to pee."

"But I _do _have to pee..." Lincoln whined.

"You _don't_ have to pee," said Broyles.

"_Yes_, I _do_."

Broyles shifted uncomfortably in his seat until he could look at Lee.

"Lincoln, look into my eyes," Broyles said.

Lincoln did as instructed, and flinched, recoiling at the torment and purpose he saw behind the senior agents orbs. If the eyes were the windows to the soul, Broyles had been to some very dark places in his life, and come back whole, though not unscathed.

"Do you have to pee _now_?" Broyles asked.

"...Not _anymore_," replied Lee meekly.


	15. Chapter 15

_Thanks to Uroboros75 for the speedy and skillful beta on this, and thanks to everyone who's still reading._

* * *

><p>Phillip Broyles shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he glanced around the shadowy meeting room on Liberty Island. His alternate looked just as uncomfortable as he did, which for some reason bothered him on a visceral level.<p>

It was the first time anyone from either side had seen a Broyles look unsure of himself – let alone both of them at the same time.

"Mister Secretary, could you repeat that, please?" Broyles asked. The Department of Defense complex under Liberty Island was quite noisy; he must have heard him wrong.

Secretary Bishop glowered at the perplex of alternates gathered at the long, black marble conference table. On his right – from "his" side of the Bridge – were Colonel Broyles, Captain Lee, and Agents Olivia Dunham and Charlie Francis. On his left were seated Agent Broyles, the Other Agent Dunham and Agent Lee, and a version of Peter Bishop apparently not belonging to either side of the Bridge.

"I want my monkey back," the Secretary repeated. His statement echoed oddly in the room.

Silence followed. The Fringe Division agents from the Other Side looked incredibly embarrassed.

"Wait!" blurted Lincoln. "You mean Merve was really a _spy_? So I was right about that?"

Lincoln turned to Broyles. "Do we have a genius chimp spy on the Other Side we can arrange a trade for?"

Olivia facepalmed herself. "Lincoln..."

"What?" Lincoln replied. "In Fringe Division, that seems to be a legitimate question..."

The Secretary cleared his throat for attention, then expanded on his demand.

"Merve was not a spy. He was simply the result of an experiment in transgenic hybridization. But he escaped and attempted to lead a...primate insurrection. Our Fringe Division stopped the insurrection, but Merve escaped to your side in the confusion."

Peter seemed amused. "So Merve is attempting to re-enact _Planet of the Apes_?" he asked.

Secretary Bishop nodded. "In retrospect, I really shouldn't have shown him that movie."

* * *

><p>"Here we go!" Olivia spoke up. "Police report from yesterday."<p>

The members of both Fringe Divisions had retired to the Operations room on Liberty Island to formulate a strategy to capture Merve, the Genius Chimpanzee.

Olivia continued once she had everyone's attention, reading aloud from her laptop. "A chimpanzee in a...um, a _pirate hat_ carjacked a cabbie in Boston and drove off."

Peter nodded. "Sure sounds like our monkey."

Lincoln shook his head. "No, it doesn't. Last time we saw him, Merve was wearing a lab coat."

Everyone stared at Lincoln.

"Well, it _could be_ another chimp," Lincoln said defiantly.

"I've got another," Peter said. "A chimp in a cowboy hat robbed a liquor store. It's only blocks from where the taxi was jacked, and half an hour later. That _has _to be our monkey."

"Where does he get all the hats?" asked Charlie.

Captain Lee spoke up. "Does this make sense at all? This doesn't sound like he's attempting to lead a simian rebellion; this is just a crime spree."

Peter shrugged. "What exactly did he do on your side?"

Captain Lee turned in his chair to face Peter.

"He broke into the Bronx Zoo. Of course, once he was in there, he had the perfect cover – he was just another chimpanzee. Somehow, he can communicate with other primates; we were never able to figure out how. Once he had the chimps and gorillas on his side, he lead them in a mass breakout."

"I repeat, where did he get the hats?" asked Charlie again. When everybody ignored him again, he commandeered a computer terminal and started looking for his answer himself.

Peter scratched his scruffy chin, deep in thought. "We should alert all the zoos in the area to watch out for a new chimp. But he could already be at the Franklin Park Zoo. Walter must have samples of Merve's DNA. I guess we can test all the chimps there, but it will take a while."

"There's a warehouse owned by a Halloween costume company within two blocks of both the carjacking and the liquor store robbery," Charlie announced. "Basic detective work, guys; you should try it sometime."

* * *

><p>That afternoon, the members of both Fringe Divisions jointly raided a Halloween costume warehouse on the south side of Boston, looking for a chimpanzee genius with a large stash of dope and alcohol.<p>

The two teams debated among themselves on the ride over whether this was the most unusual case they had ever had. The debate was still undecided when they reached the warehouse. What they all agreed on was that the cases had gotten weirder ever since Peter Bishop had appeared in this timeline.

"Face it, Peter," Liv teased. "You're a living, breathing Fringe Event! You appeared out of nowhere, nobody remembers you... hell, you don't even really know if you _existed_ before you appeared in the lake! You could be some sort of lab-grown genius with fabricated memories!"

Peter glared at the redhead; he was not amused. Charlie looked over in sympathy as he injected his vaccine. "At least you don't have arachnids in your blood."

Peter nodded in sympathy to Charlie. "Yeah...maybe we can do something about that."

Then Peter glared at Liv again.

"What?" Liv asked.

"At least I don't have a pink unicorn tattooed on my ass!" Peter announced loudly, causing everyone in the back of the van to snicker.

Liv gasped.

"What! How did you...?" Liv sputtered, then was quiet for the rest of the trip.

The SWAT van pulled into the parking lot and the Dunhams, the Lee's, and the Francis exited the van, weapons drawn. Because Peter still officially wasn't allowed to have gun, Peter stayed in the van with the two Broyles to help with telemetry.

* * *

><p>The join Fringe team moved through the costume warehouse in an arrow formation, weapons drawn. The warehouse was nearly filled to bursting with stacks of cardboard boxes filled with Halloween costumes – and most, if not all, had been violently torn open, contents strewn about. The team stepped over and around various costumes and accessories – ninja costumes, clown costumes, cowboy hats, ballerina outfits – anything and everything you could conceive of impersonating for a masquerade.<p>

At the rough center of the warehouse, they found evidence that Merve had indeed been there. A case of vodka had been consumed in feverish haste, the empty bottles scattered haphazardly. In addition, they found the ashen remains of Walter's marijuana stash.

"How the _hell_ can he drink and smoke so much?" asked Lincoln Lee, holstering his weapon.

Captain Lee shrugged. "Genetic anomaly? He seems to be both an alcoholic and drug addict, and to have a phenomenally high tolerance for both."

"Hey guys!" Agent Dunham called. "Take a look at this!"

The Lee's followed the voice around a wall of cardboard boxes. Agent Lee squinted up at words spray painted in angry red and bad block letters, on the wall of the warehouse.

"Primates rule, humans drool!" he read out loud. He looked at another spot of graffiti, which he read as well. "Monkeys need weed!"

"Okay...Let us know if you find them...Thank you." Agent Broyles replaced his cellphone in his coat pocket before speaking to Peter and his double. "That was the Lincoln Park Zoo. They've checked, and all their apes are accounted for."

Peter's cellphone began buzzing. He pulled it out and looked at the caller id, then answered, surprise evident in his voice.

"Yeah, Markham?" he asked.

"Hey Bishop! I got a tip for you. Merve is here at my house. He drank all the shine I had in storage, and he's passed out on my new couch. Is there a reward or something?"

* * *

><p>Agent Broyles shifted uncomfortably in his seat, as a wave of <em>déjà vu<em> threatened to engulf him. He glanced at his counterpart across the conference table before addressing the Secretary again.

"Excuse me, Mister Secretary? Could you please repeat that?" he asked.

"I said you can _keep_ him," The Secretary glowered over the table, the harsh lighting making him seem more sinister than ever. "I have no use for alcoholic, drug-addicted monkeys."

Everyone looked to the opposite end of the table, where Merve the Chimeric Genius Chimpanzee stood disheveled, hung-over, and in shackles, wearing the tattered remains of a clown costume.

And without warning, Merve retched, bent over and vomited profusely in Lincoln Lee's lap.


End file.
